


Illusionary

by noelleleithe



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelleleithe/pseuds/noelleleithe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She belongs to no one. Least of all to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusionary

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Season 8 through "This is Not Happening"

I once liked the woods, he thinks, picking his way around the moss-covered corpse of another fallen tree. Boy Scouts, camping trips, walks down to the swimming hole to find some relief from the Texas summer heat; the woods were a friend in those idyllic days.

The woods are no longer friendly.

It was the jungle that turned against him first, the report of unseen weapons waking him from his sleep, the mud and water and death of two years lost in another country. He left part of himself in the green and the muck, something he'd never been able to recapture. Something he never would.

It wasn't until these past few years that the forests of his own country grew teeth and claws. They bit deep as he burst from the trees and into a clearing dotted with tiny graves, tore him apart as he trembled among the pines while his agent -- his friend -– disappeared.

Shredded his soul as he looked down in the clearing last night at the one thing he’s most feared he’d find, and watched her crumble in the aftermath.

He’s lived by duty these last months. Watched her covertly, leapt to help whenever she’d asked. If he couldn’t bring Mulder back, he could at least keep Scully safe.

His skin burns at the memory of how he's betrayed his vow, his friends, even himself.

He had kept her tucked into his body as they walked to their rooms after their conversation two nights ago, and when he brought them to a stop outside their doors, she lifted her face to his, eyes hollow in the starlight. His mind registered the tear tracks etching agony upon her skin, but his heart took control, long-repressed emotions ruling his actions as he took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her.

She came alive for just a moment under his touch, kissing him back with fervor and desperation, fingers clawing awkwardly at his shoulders. Too wide, too tall, too big; he knew he was not the one she wanted, but he was all she had to cling to.

They stumbled inside and he fell into the sea, into her, into everything he'd dreamed of, now turned nightmare. He fought near the surface again and again in his bed that night, marshaling his strength to pull them free, but the current held them fast, emotion crashing breakers against their skin as their clothes fell away.

His vision cleared only once, as he pushed inside her and she broke their kiss with a sharp intake of air. Too heavy, too hard, not him, not him, he heard her say, as if she'd spoken the words, and he froze in agony, still buried deep. His heart ripped apart at her rejection, at the lost look in her eyes and the knowledge that he shared space with living, growing evidence of the man whose space he filled.

He shuddered, his body urging him on, and retook her mouth by instinct, pulling them back below the waves, seeking not to replace the memories but to drive them back for just a little while.

She slipped away in the night and was unable to look him in the eye the next morning. It was all he could do not to throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness, for everything he’d ever done that hurt her.

Instead, he shuts down his memories of that night and follows her now like a second shadow, deeper into the forest. He knows better than to try to dissuade her from her methodical search but determined to do everything in his power to shield her from harm. She's seen the body, the evidence, the witness reports; in the true progression of a practiced investigator, she’s now absorbing the scene itself in an attempt to put together the pieces.

He knows she knows the truth about what happened here. He also knows she's not willing to accept it, just as she refused to accept Mulder's disappearance three months ago.

His mind holds a clear picture of her pale face against the white sheets and the blue scrubs in that hospital room, her eyes focused on some point outside the window next to her bed as she talked. Her giddy tears long gone, she'd spoken in a low, quiet voice, giving him only the barest information, only what she knew he’d need to help her bring Mulder back.

Yes, she believed the child was Mulder's, conceived naturally. No, they hadn’t been hiding their relationship for long; it was "a recent development," she said, refusing to look him in the eye.

Shame had washed over him as he felt a little spark of hope die somewhere inside. He’d known she and Mulder belonged to each other, but without this confirmation, his candle could still burn.

She'd doused the flame, and he was certain she knew it. He was just as sure she knew that even with hope gone, he would do anything for her.

She was right. And so here he is.

He watches from the edge of the clearing as she paces off distances, takes soil samples, her precise movements soothing somehow. Familiar. He feels as if he's watched her do this a thousand times; as if he's tapped into that almost-tangible aura that always surrounds Mulder and her.

Just for a moment, he's a part of her, in a way he wasn't two nights ago, and his mind and body sing with the sensation.

Is this what it's been like for Mulder, just being with her?

She glances up at him then, as if she's sensed the shift in his manner, and his illusionary thoughts shatter against hard reality.

She belongs to no one. Least of all to him.

He turns his back to her for the first time in hours, allowing them both a moment of privacy. He knows he's hovering. He knows she hates it. He also knows she’s allowing it because she knows he needs it.

Guilt flows through him with every beat of his heart, pulsing through his veins alongside the minuscule mechanisms that hold him prisoner. He can almost see the tiny shards; he pictures them as sharp-edged and black, scraping his blood vessels raw. He knew exactly what they didn’t need, and yet that’s exactly what he did. She needed comfort, and instead he stripped her last defenses away and took what he wanted.

He wonders again if he’s feeling what Mulder felt. He remembers words spoken in despair as the woman he now watches over lay on the edge of life and death, so many years ago. "What if I knew the potential consequences but I never told her?" Mulder asked then, and Skinner gave the only reply he could: "Then you're as much to blame for her condition as the Cancer Man."

The words cut deep then; the memory now flays him open. Mulder held onto more guilt and grief than any human should ever have to suffer. What right did anyone have to add another layer?

Least of all him.

For the first time he thinks he understands Mulder, and it might be too late to do any of them any good.

Bracing himself, he turns back to face her, and doesn't see her for a moment. His gaze darts around the clearing until he catches sight of her, crouching low on the ground.

No, not crouching. Kneeling, bent low, head near the ground, curled up into herself.

Before he fully registers what he's seeing, he's across the clearing and at her side, one hand hovering inches above the curve of her back. She is shaking all over, murmuring against the ground, and he realizes, belatedly, that this is the spot where they found him. The spot where she last saw him; she’d made it only halfway back from the compound before she collapsed at last from exhaustion and grief and had to be carried away.

She has not asked to see the body, but she will. He does not know which he fears more when she does: her reaction, or his own.

He cannot bring himself to touch her. He is an intruder, a usurper to the throne of her affection; despite what they've shared, he has no rights here.

He can only watch as the end of one life destroys another.

He can only wait for his own life to shatter around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Gillian Anderson and Mitch Pileggi for the lovely scene in "This is Not Happening" that sparked inspiration.
> 
> Dedicated to Kim, Liz, and Jordan, the three most vocal of those who keep me amused with their voracious love for all things Skinner; and to Hal, for putting the carrot in front of this horse and helping her break through the cinderblock. Special thanks to Kim, Liz, and Dreamshaper for beta duties.
> 
> This story is (c) Copyright 2001 by Noelle Leithe. "The X-Files" universe, and all related characters and plot elements, are the property of FOX Broadcasting and 1013 Productions and are borrowed here without profit or intent for profit.


End file.
